Presenteeism
by Veldeia
Summary: Tony thinks piloting the armor remotely while letting the others believe he's wearing it is a good plan, until he realizes he's not hung over, but actually quite ill. Steve thinks something's off with Tony today, but he has no clue what that might be, and since Tony says he's good to go, they'll proceed with the mission anyway. (Sickfic with a twist, sort of.)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is a fill for my Captain America/Iron Man Bingo prompt "armor". It was supposed to be a short thing, couple of thousand words or so, but apparently, I just can't restrain myself when it comes to writing h/c. It's now just under 10 000 words, and I decided to split it into two chapters. Second chapter should be up within a week or so, there's still some fine-tuning needed until I'm happy with it.

* * *

 **Presenteeism** : The problem of workers being on the job but, because of medical conditions, not fully functioning. - In a sense, presenteeism is the opposite of absenteeism, in which the employee does not come to work.

* * *

"Hrngh, shit, JARVIS, time?"

"It is quarter to five Krasnoyarsk Time, fifteen minutes to the pre-mission briefing. I have been attempting to rouse you for half an hour," the familiar voice echoes from the tablet on the small table by Tony's narrow and way too hard bed.

"Ugh, yeah, I know, I know, I'm awake now."

Just how much vodka did he drink last night? Half a bottle? It can't have been enough to make him feel like this, not with the tolerance he has developed over the years, even if he's been trying to cut down his intake. This has got to be the most disproportionate hangover he's had since he was underage. The headache is intense, the nausea currently tolerable, but only just, promising to get oh so much worse at the slightest aggravation.

Fucking Igor. Ivan. Ilya. Generic local name starting with an "I". Their host, an acquaintance of Natasha's, has been nothing but competent so far, but who the hell thinks vodka shots are a good way to finish the night before storming one of the remaining Hydra strongholds?

Tony doesn't even remember feeling drunk last night – is he having memory issues on top of everything else? What the hell was in that bottle? Has he been poisoned?

Everyone else took a sip as well, as far as he can tell. Tony considers raising his head to look around, but that feels like a terrible idea. He tries to turn it instead, but oh shit, is his neck sore, yeah, not a good idea either.

"Ow. Next time we come to Siberia, I need to bring my own pillow."

All they have are these sad excuses of mattresses on the rickety beds, and pillows that are basically two-dimensional. His back might never be the same again after the week here.

"Anyone around?" he asks the silent room.

It's JARVIS who answers again. "Available data indicates all other Avengers have left the building. Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov are currently in the Quinjet. Others' locations are unavailable. You're all alone in here, sir."

"Awesome," Tony says. That very much suggests they're not being as pathetic as him. Probably not poison, then, or no poison other than the usual. He's glad no one is around to witness his sad state.

He wants nothing more than to pull the covers over his head and go back to sleep, but he can't sit out this mission. They've been gathering intel and getting ready for five days now, and the plan sort-of hinges on Tony. They need Iron Man, they trust him, _Steve_ trusts him, he can't let them down, not because of a stupid error of judgment and a bottle of shitty vodka. Good thing he's a genius. He can handle this. He can pull this off.

Trying to keep the rest of his body as still as possible to hold the pain inside his skull at bay, he reaches out with one hand, fumbling for the headset that he keeps on the bedside table. He almost knocks the tablet to the floor doing that, but finally, his fingers close around the familiar shape, and he manages to lift it and place it on his head.

"Anyone near the suit at the moment?"

"Negative, sir." JARVIS's voice is a lot clearer and louder through the earbuds. A little too loud, really.

"No need to shout. Drop the volume to fifty percent."

"Very well. Sir, if you're feeling unwell..."

"It's nothing I haven't gone through before," Tony says, and flips the HUD glasses over his eyes. Instead of the dim, ascetic room, he's now looking at a twilit spruce forest.

Good thing he left his suit in sentry mode outside the Quinjet and not inside it, that makes things a lot easier. He walks it towards the cottage where he's lying, constantly on guard to make sure no one sees him. He has to stop and hide behind a clump of trees to avoid Bruce, who's on his way to join the others in the Quinjet. Fortunately, the scientist is so deep in thought he doesn't even look up at the sounds of cracking branches and rustling bushes. Tony manages to sneak around without running into anyone else, and soon, the empty armor is standing right outside the door.

Tony considers his options. If he put the suit on, he would get full biotelemetry data, probably confirming in so many words that he's got the surprise hangover from hell. He doesn't need that. He doubts he'd be any good in the field. Just the thought of standing up almost makes him gag. Flying and fighting - yeah, he's obviously not up to that right now.

At Tony's order, Iron Man points a metallic finger at the lock and melts it and the door handle into a useless glob. Should at least slow down anyone who's trying to get in, give him time to hide if needs be.

"Sir, I strongly disagree with this course of action, I -"

"Disagree all you will, JARVIS, but if you as much as hint to the others that I'm actually not in the suit, or that I'm not fit for duty, I'll repurpose you as machine translation software."

* * *

Steve glances at the time. 0455. Everyone else is already here: Natasha studying the satellite images with Clint, Bruce sitting in his usual corner, looking thoughtful, Thor standing close to the open ramp, clearly a little impatient.

Everyone on time, except Tony. Not that Steve is all that surprised: waking up before five isn't something Tony's used to. Maybe Steve should've done something about that when he got up himself, but Tony had seemed like he needed every minute of shut-eye he could get – he'd somehow managed to look tense even asleep. Steve knows it's been a long week for Tony, living in frugal surroundings and with barely any personal space, and although Steve has quite enjoyed it himself, he's nevertheless glad it will be over soon.

It's exactly one minute past five when Tony stomps in, already in the suit. "Morning, guys. I'm not late, am I? I mean, one minute here or there?"

"Not the end of the world," Steve says. "Though you know how much I value punctuality."

"I think Cap should make you write 'I won't be late to class' on the blackboard a couple of hundred times," Clint offers.

"Ew, blackboards are a torture method that should be banned by international treaties. That sound alone..." Tony cringes, and settles next to a wall, oddly enough not even opening his visor.

"Going to sit through the briefing in full armor?" Steve asks him curiously. "Are you sulking?"

"Yes and no," Tony replies, a little defensive. "I think Tweety Bird might be coming down with something. I heard him sneeze last night. Some weird Siberian bug. Wouldn't want to catch that."

"It was your cologne that made me sneeze," Clint retorts.

"We all sleep in the same room. If there are airborne bugs around, you've probably caught them already," Bruce comments helpfully.

"Better safe than sorry. Anyway, we should get on with it. Shouldn't take long, we went through everything yesterday. I thought we'd be heading off right away," Tony notes irritably.

Something's clearly up – even on a good day, Tony can be definitely be a little eccentric, but usually, Steve is quite good at reading his moods. Now, though, he hasn't got a clue what's going on, except that it's not normal. He doesn't like that one bit, not as a leader who needs to understand his team, nor as a concerned friend, let alone a partner.

"I just want to be sure we're all on the same page before we go. And you're right, better not waste any more time, we've got a schedule," Steve says.

They go through the plan of action as quickly as they can without omitting any important details. The Hydra base they're targeting is mostly underground, which has made getting good intel a challenge. Tony was able to access their computer systems to grab the basic floor plan of the facility, but it only shows the general layout. He couldn't spend much more time than that poking at the computers, or he might've been noticed. The base is located close to a river called Tunguska, in an area where an unusual explosion took place a hundred years ago, and which everyone has been making confusing pop culture references about. Those aside, Bruce, Tony and Natasha seem convinced that it's a likely reason for why the base is there.

It takes them around half an hour to finish, and then they're off, Tony and Thor flying outside the Quinjet as usual. It's Clint's turn to pilot today, which means Steve will be spending the hour-long journey in the pleasant company of Bruce and Natasha.

The silence feels heavy for the first few minutes, until Bruce breaks it in a slightly hesitant voice, with the question Steve has been expecting all along. "Um, you don't have to answer if this is too prying, but, is everything all right between the two of you?"

"As far as I know, yeah," Steve answers truthfully.

They haven't really spent that much time together during this mission, just the occasional stolen kiss, and that quickie in the storage room – which he instantly pushes away from his mind because he really, really shouldn't be thinking about that right now. Yesterday, they didn't have any time for themselves, since Tony flew to meet Thor in Krasnoyarsk to guide him to the cottage they've been using as their base of operations, while the rest of the team did another recon flight over the target area. Once everyone had returned to base, it was time for last minute planning, and the amicable evening with their host.

"He seemed a little subdued last night, if you ask me," Natasha says. "I was expecting him to drink Ilya under the table, but he actually went to bed earlier than I did."

"I think I'd better give him a call," Steve says, and retreats to the other end of the aircraft for privacy.

Tony greets him with a decidedly grumpy, "Yeah, what?"

"I just, I wanted to ask if everything's okay."

"Fine and dandy. Not a huge fan of waking up before my usual bedtime."

"Look, if you're not sure about this, we can still reschedule, do it tomorrow instead."

"Seriously, Steve, no need for that. I'm just a little tired. It's not a problem. I'll do my part."

"I know you will. Just, Tony, if everything's not okay, any step of the way, please let me know, okay?"

"Sure," Tony says, in the least convincing tone imaginable. "It's going to be fine, sweet cheeks. Stark out."

Steve sighs. He knows without a doubt that if Tony says he can do it, he's not going to fail. What he's worried about is that Tony might take unnecessary risks or push himself too hard and end up getting hurt – it wouldn't even be the first time. If only he knew whether this is just Tony getting up on the wrong side of the bed, or if it's something Steve has done or said, or something else entirely.

Once they're done with this, Steve is going to have a very long conversation with Tony and get to the bottom of whatever's eating him. He'll take a leaf out of Natasha's book if he has to, use blackmail or bribery, whatever it takes. For now, though, he'll play by his own rules, give Tony the benefit of the doubt, and focus on finishing the mission.

When he returns to Natasha and Bruce and they look at him inquiringly, all Steve can do is shrug. "He says he's good to go, so we'll proceed as planned."

They arrive at the Hydra base on schedule, at 0645 hours, the Quinjet in stealth mode, the flight-capable Avengers taking shelter from trees. The supply truck they are waiting for is on time as well, approaching the ramp leading to the underground complex at 0700 sharp.

Their plan is simple and relies more on surprise and brute force than stealth, because everything they've seen suggests that the base only has a skeleton crew at the moment. The trickiest part is getting in, and that's the part that depends entirely on Tony.

As the gates open and the truck drives in, Tony follows right after it, and then Thor lands in front of the ramp and calls forth a massive lighting strike, bringing every eye in the base to him. Soon, he's fighting off guards, easily managing them on his own.

When Tony broke into the base's computer systems earlier, he tried to find an easy way to open the gates, and more importantly the doors to the hangar - the gates lead to a long network of narrow tunnels that is easy to defend and difficult to navigate, while the hangar is a horizontal opening right in the middle of the complex. Unfortunately, Tony couldn't figure out how to open it, suggesting that the controls are partly or entirely manual.

It was the obvious choice for Tony to be the one to go in through the trickier entrance and clear the way for everyone else – he has the perfect combination of speed, tech skills, and armor to protect him. He's suspiciously quiet as he flies in and advances deeper into the base, until he finally announces he's found and cleared the control room, and will have the doors wide open in no time.

A minute later, there's a sudden loud crash on the comms, followed by a groan and a string of swearing.

* * *

Tony lets JARVIS take care of most of the flying. He'll have to do most of the fighting, too, because fighting is a little challenging with an interface that's based on voice commands and eye movements.

It's also difficult with a headache that's so fucking bad it's already gone past the exploding supernova stage and collapsed into a black hole.

Around the time they reach the enemy base Tony's come to realize that the error of judgment wasn't drinking too much last night, but thinking that he drank too much last night, when he in fact didn't. This isn't a hangover. He's had enough morning after headaches to tell this has to be something else, something worse.

He thought migraine headaches were the worst you could possibly get, but no, apparently not. Is he having a stroke? He might be a little young for that, but it can happen at any age, right? He can still speak without slurring and move both arms, though, so maybe not? Besides, he's starting to feel chilled in a way that suggests his temp must be at least pushing 101 °F. He almost asks JARVIS about it before he remembers JARVIS only has the headset and the tablet, he doesn't have Tony's numbers. Ah, shit.

His jibe to Clint about weird Siberian bugs seems way too foreshadowing right now.

He knows he should probably call the whole thing off, but damn it, he's just spent the morning telling everyone he's fine, starting with JARVIS, then Steve, and finally Thor, who kept pestering him during the flight because he was so quiet. He'll just have to see this through. If he manages to fly the suit back before the others get here, he can pretend he was in it all along and cranky due to the killer flu. He'll worry about surviving said flu later.

Luckily, getting inside the enemy base is ridiculously easy. While Thor is wreaking havoc on Hydra's front yard, Tony flies in, automatic targeting dealing with the few goons that try to slow him down. He zooms through endless, mostly empty corridors – the visuals make his head reel, but he obviously can't do this with his eyes closed – and eventually locates the control room next to the hangar bay. There are only two people inside, soon taken care of. He barricades the door and sits the suit down in front of the controls and computer terminals.

"All right, I'm in, the control room is secure," he tells the others.

Time to take a breather, finally. He closes his eyes and just concentrates on pushing back the nausea and the bile at the back of his throat. He pulls the blanket up to his chin, but it's not enough, he's still freezing, shivering all over, his internal thermostat telling him it's not a crisp autumn day but fucking double digits below zero midwinter.

What he really needs is another blanket. Steve's bed isn't far from his, and there's one there, neatly folded as always (Clint's rumpled one is almost as close, but there's no question whose blanket he'd rather grab).

Carefully, slowly, gingerly, he slides his feet over the edge of the bed and tries to sit up, head and neck protesting fiercely – and crashes to the floor, legs tangled in his own blanket, as the room does a backflip.

"Fucking hell, shit, ow," he groans under his breath. The world is spinning, and his head is pounding like he's brained himself on the floorboards, though he's pretty sure it's just the same old headache.

Thankfully, he hasn't lost the headset, but once he can think again, he realizes the audio feed was on and the whole team heard that. He switches it off quickly.

"J, not a word to the others about this. Not one word," he adds in private.

The good thing is, he can now reach Steve's blanket without getting up from the floor. He spreads it over himself, and feels marginally warmer. Not worth ending up on the floor for. Then again, it's not a huge difference to the hard mattress. He decides to stay where he's landed, since he's got much more important things to worry about.

He opens his eyes to stare at the Hydra compound's control center on the HUD. One more thing left to do. Get the doors open and the others will handle the rest, and he can just fade away.

* * *

An ominous silence follows the crash and Tony's unexpected outburst.

"What the hell was that?" Clint asks from the pilot's seat. Bruce, Natasha and Steve have gathered around him to follow the mission unfold.

"Iron Man? Tony, status report?" Steve calls out, but there's no reply. "JARVIS? What just happened?"

"I'm unable to say," the AI answers.

"What? How come?" Steve wonders aloud. Surely JARVIS must know what's going on. "Can you put his video feed on screen?"

"Negative, Captain."

"Can you show us his vitals, then?" Bruce suggests.

"I'm afraid I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Natasha asks suspiciously.

"Can't. I currently lack access to Mr. Stark's biotelemetry."

The four Avengers share confused glances over that, but before there's time for questioning the AI further, Tony finally speaks up.

"Stealthy bastard snuck up on me," he offers as a vague explanation. "Dealt with him, though. All's well now. Give me a minute and you can join in on the fun." His voice is off, somehow, none of the usual heat of the battle excitement, just flat and weary.

"Tony, I'm starting to run out of patience. If you're in trouble, you need to let us know! And why the heck is JARVIS unable to give us your status? Did you tell him not to?" Steve complains, realizing he sounds like a nagging parent, but he's so damn frustrated, stuck up here, unable to do a thing, with Tony deep inside the enemy stronghold, in the middle of who knows what, and refusing to keep them updated like he should.

Tony doesn't argue back, he just doesn't answer at all. That's odd as well, since usually he's the last one to go for the silent treatment.

A minute later, Tony's talking again, though it's only to say, "You guys better be ready, because I am. Open sesame!"

With that, there's no more time to be wasted on puzzling over Tony's behavior, since the hangar doors are sliding open, which is their cue to enter the fray. Clint gets up from the pilot's seat and Bruce takes his place, as planned. They're hoping they won't need the Hulk here, which makes Bruce the designated driver in case of rapid retreat.

Just as their intel suggested, the hangar is currently empty, no aircrafts present – plenty of room for the Quinjet. This is almost too easy, really. It reinforces the feeling Steve has had all along, that they've come too late, and Hydra have already shut down most of the operation. Still, they need to go through the base and see what they can find, perhaps it will give them a clue as to the purpose of the place.

From here on, the plan is as simple as anything: they'll just storm the base and deal with the remaining resistance. Bruce puts them down smoothly, right in the middle of a dozen Hydra soldiers pointing guns at the now visible Quinjet, shooting uselessly at its durable exterior.

The three Avengers leap out and into action, working seamlessly together. Steve and Natasha proceed side by side, Clint stays behind, taking cover by the Quinjet, and targeting the Hydra soldiers that are further away.

Between hitting one soldier with his shield and kicking another in the face, Steve takes a quick look around, and notes the big windows overlooking the hangar, obviously the control room Tony's in. Once he's dealt with the third soldier, who somehow thought Steve wouldn't notice them approach because he was facing the other way, he looks up again, and spots Iron Man in the control room, just sitting there as far as Steve can tell. Well, at least he doesn't seem to be in any trouble.

The rest of the Avengers have no trouble, either, fighting off Hydra soldiers, using non-lethal force whenever they can. They've almost dealt with the small group that was protecting the hangar when four more Hydra men show up through a door at the far end of the room. One of them, a lieutenant by his insignia, is carrying a large gun that Steve doesn't recognize.

"By the door, watch out!" he shouts to the others, and takes cover, just as the Hydra lieutenant takes aim and fires.

The projectile – bullet? – is clearly not meant for any of the Avengers, but their aircraft. It strikes home, hitting the nose of the Quinjet, not with an explosion but with a soft "thwup" – and suddenly, there's a hole the size of Steve's head in the side of the jet.

"Uh, guys, we might have a problem," Bruce calls out on the team channel. "You better stop him before he hits anything critical, because that could do serious damage."

"Copy that, Banner," Steve acknowledges. He's not seen that sort of ammunition before, but it's evident from that first hit that it's bad news.

The lieutenant and his henchmen have taken cover behind a big wall support pillar, and Steve heads towards them, keeping low, dodging bullets. He's counting on them not wanting to waste the special ammunition on a foot soldier such as himself, and it does seem to be that way. Clint is shooting arrows back at them, and gets two of the men, but the lieutenant with the gun is still there.

There's a bang and a sound of shattering glass above, and when Steve looks up, he sees Tony fly through the window and towards the remaining two Hydra soldiers, shooting bright repulsor blasts as he goes.

Iron Man is not an unarmored hand-to-hand fighter, but exactly the sort of target you'd use that gun against. The Hydra lieutenant points it at Tony, and surely Tony must have seen what it's capable of, but he doesn't dodge, just keeps going, and takes the hit, straight on his right palm repulsor, which, as Steve watches in horror, just – oh, God, it just melts away, and – _Tony's right hand is gone_.

* * *

Tony gets the hangar doors open. It's a task any of the Avengers could've handled, it requires nothing but finding the right switch and that's it, and yeah, he's glad it's that simple, because he probably wouldn't have been able to manage anything more complicated.

The bright lights on the HUD are driving ice picks through his eye sockets. He dims the video feed down a notch, but it doesn't really help that much. Painkillers might, but hell if he knows where he could find any, he must've packed some – somewhere – probably, or maybe not, he's not sure – or are all the medical supplies on the Quinjet?

He really shouldn't be here alone right now. He can honestly admit he's not capable of taking care of himself, and usually he'd never say that, but he's just feeling too plain awful. He's not entirely sure he could get up from the floor if he wanted to.

The nausea sweeps over him in a wave even more intense than it's been so far, and he's past fighting it, all he can do is turn on his side as fast as possible with the achy neck that seriously limits his mobility, and throw up before he chokes on it.

Thank fuck he's remembered to turn the audio feed off so the team doesn't have to hear this.

JARVIS hears it, though, of course. "Sir, may I suggest you notify the others of your condition? Or allow me to do it?"

Tony spits out the last of the bile and takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to pull himself together enough to form an intelligible reply. "I'll do it. Later. Now's not the time."

Now is totally not the time. Focusing on what's going on in the Hydra compound, Tony sees the Quinjet has now landed in the hangar, and Steve, Natasha and Clint are doing just fine taking care of Hydra's meager forces without Tony's help. He sees Steve look up at him, frowning as he takes in Iron Man just sitting in the control room. Tony should probably say something, anything, but he can't figure out what that could possibly be. Better to just sit tight and after this is all over, they can – what the hell was that?

The Hydra officer has just shot at the Quinjet with something that went right through the hull. That should not be possible. Tony knows the properties of that alloy and to pierce it like that – some kind of acid? Nanotechnology? They need to get their hands on that gun. And what does Steve think he's doing, running straight at them? He could get hit, and since they have no clue what that weapon is capable of, it might damage his shield, and more importantly, it would definitely burn through his body armor like it's paper!

A sudden surge of adrenaline breaking through the sickness, Tony makes the armor stand up and smashes his way through the window in front of him. He has no need for finesse, he doesn't need to watch out, because he can always fix the suit, so he just goes straight for the bad guy with the big gun. The hit that the armor takes registers as a painfully bright warning on the HUD, and his right repulsor goes offline, but whatever, the important thing is that he gets the bad guy.


	2. Chapter 2

The shock of what just happened only starting to settle in, Steve follows with a detached, tactical curiosity as the Hydra lieutenant needs time to reload, and Tony takes advantage of that and shoots him down with his remaining repulsor. Almost at the same time, Thor appears through the doorway behind them, and one swing of Mjolnir makes short work of the remaining enemy soldier, so that there are none left standing in the room.

Tony flies head first into the nearest wall, and clearly he's turned off the sound, because there's still not as much as a grunt on the comms. He plummets down a dozen feet before the suit rights itself, swoops in a steady, direct line towards the Quinjet, and lands gracefully next to it. JARVIS must have taken over.

Steve runs towards Iron Man. Even from a distance, he can see that Tony's right arm ends in a melted stump, just at his elbow. He can't help thinking about Bucky, about that metal arm that he's now got, and how this is just so horribly wrong in every possible way. What the hell was Tony thinking, that hadn't been reckless, that had been plain dumb! This is in no way a mission important enough to take risks like that – definitely not important enough to lose limbs over! Steve should've called this off, he shouldn't have let Tony out in the field today, that was a terrible, terrible mistake.

"Tony? Please say something," Steve pleads as he kneels next to Iron Man. Clint's there, too, and Bruce is walking down the Quinjet ramp to join them. Natasha has remained behind with Thor to tie up the injured and unconscious Hydra soldiers.

Tony lifts his maimed arm in front of his armored face, and somehow, the smooth metallic features seem to convey confusion more than anything else. "Oh, oops," his voice comes both through the earbud and the suit, and it's – not at all what Steve would've expected.

That's when the penny drops. Iron Man's arm has melted away, but there's no blood, not a single speck. No matter what mysterious ammunition the Hydra lieutenant was using, surely there should be? And surely Tony would be screaming in pain, not just a little baffled? Steve hasn't seen Tony's face at all today, not outside of bed, it's just been the armor, Tony hasn't opened the mask even once. Put that together with those strange comments from JARVIS, and there's only one conclusion that makes any sense.

Tony seems to have picked up on everyone else's shocked expressions. "Oh, shit, guys, sorry, it's okay, Steve, I'm okay – well, shit, I'm not okay, but my arm's okay. I'm not in the suit, I'm not in the suit!" he rambles, confirming what Steve already figured out two seconds ago. He sounds worse than earlier today, when Steve thought he sounded tired. Now it's like he's speaking through gritted teeth, so even though he's not in the suit, even though he hasn't just lost an arm from the elbow down, thank Heavens, he nevertheless gives the impression that he's hurting.

"What the hell, Stark?" Clint says disbelievingly, and casts a glance towards the control room. "Where are you, then?"

Steve's pretty sure he knows the answer to that. "You're still at Ilya's summerhouse, aren't you? You never even left. You've not been in the suit today at all."

"Guilty as charged," Tony admits.

"I think we're long overdue for an honest explanation. Why are you there and not here with us? And why didn't you tell us earlier?" Steve says. Although he now knows Tony's not actually inside the armor, he can't help talking to it as if he were, aiming an exasperated but concerned look at the suit's face. Tony's probably looking back at him anyway.

"'cause I'm an idiot," Tony replies. "Thought it was the vodka. Didn't want to let you down. Thought I could handle it. Having some doubts about that now. So, uh. When you're done there, I could use some company."

As disjointed as Tony's explanation is, it's easy enough to grasp. It's not all that surprising, either, although Steve can't believe Tony actually thought he was hung over after what can't have been more than a mouthful of alcohol. And he must be feeling pretty rotten to actually admit that he needs help.

"What's wrong, Tony?" Steve asks.

"Hell if I know. Worst headache ever. And I may have puked on your blanket. Sorry about that."

"Migraine?" Bruce suggests.

"Don't think so. Feeling feverish, too. Shouldn't you be worrying about Hydra?"

"Hydra can wait a few minutes," Steve declares. "Thor and Natasha are keeping an eye on them."

He aims an inquiring look at Bruce, who returns an uncertain expression. "I don't know, might be nothing, could be something serious. It would probably be a good idea to send someone back to him. Could JARVIS –"

"Jay can't diagnose me through a mic, headphones and glasses."

"Right, of course not. I'll give it a shot, then. I need you to be very specific, Tony," Bruce says slowly and steadily. "Headache, nausea, fever. Anything else? Coughing or sneezing? Trouble breathing? Chest pain? Neck pain? Rash?"

"Not that kind of doctor," Tony reminds him.

"Better than nothing, though. Tell me."

"Neck's really sore. Pillows are shit. Why?"

Bruce's face has suddenly gone from mildly concerned to so alarmed that Steve's half worried he might start changing color. "Okay, someone needs to head back right now. Obviously I'm just guessing here, but that sounds like it could be meningitis, and if it is, it could rapidly get a lot worse."

"Bad enough already," Tony says, and then the audio cuts off abruptly at the sounds of retching.

* * *

Meningitis, then. Bruce may well be right. Tony has chalked up the sore neck to the bad pillows and mattresses, but maybe it wasn't just that. Yeah, this torment he's going through fits what he can remember about the illness. He also knows it can cause brain damage and a bunch of other nasty things, or in the worst case, death.

He doesn't think he's felt quite this bad since the worst of the palladium toxicity, nor has he been this pitiful, curled up under blankets that still aren't warm enough, the floorboards hard and scratchy under his cheek, the pungent smell of vomit worsening the nausea in a vicious circle.

Before the Avengers, before Iron Man, everyone had probably expected him to die like this, drown in a pool of sick, alone on the floor. Hell, he would've accepted it as a likely scenario himself. Because of booze though, not some bug. But not now, not anymore, not when he's finally doing something useful and meaningful with his life. Not when there are people around him who make him feel like he belongs.

Not when there are so many things he hasn't done or said. To Steve, mostly.

"Tony? Are you still listening?" Bruce says sharply, and he thought he was, but he has no idea what he's missed.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was saying you should start broad spectrum antibiotics as soon as possible, just in case. There's a well stocked medical cabinet in Ilya's storage room, in the shed next to the outhouse, do you think you could make your way there?"

That's hilarious. The storage room – _the_ storage room he really enjoyed with Steve just the other day – is at least a hundred yards away. It could just as well be on the Moon, there's no way he's going to make it that far on his own.

"Would I be on the floor if I could?" he says, only to be reminded by a stunned-sounding Steve that they don't know he's on the floor. And yeah, he'd honestly, entirely forgotten they can't see him.

He's forgetting things, skipping frames, having trouble concentrating on the conversation – there are more words exchanged that just float past his ears, because there's so much pain inside his skull that there's no room for anything else.

Clearly his brain hasn't been firing on all cylinders since he woke up, or he wouldn't be in this situation at all.

His mind's going, and he's absolutely useless, absolutely nothing without it. What's the point of a genius who can't think?

Suddenly, he's not just shivering and sick and hurting, he's scared. He's terrified, and lonely.

"Steve?" he asks, and it comes out sounding almost like a sob.

"I'm right here," Steve says. "You can see me, right?"

Tony's kept his eyes closed, because that helps a little, but he opens them now. Steve's looking right at him, and he's so beautiful that Tony wants to cry, every angle of his face so perfect, his eyes such a vibrant blue even through the video feed. And despite his half-useless mind, Tony realizes that for Steve to look at him like that, Steve must be looking at the suit's mask with all the feelings Tony sees on his face, looking at the suit but seeing Tony although he actually can't. God, he's a wreck, now there really is a tear sliding down his cheek, because he has messed up and deserves to be shouted at, but Steve is looking at him with nothing but warmth and worry on his face.

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"I'm not going to be mad at you for being sick, Tony."

"But I should've told. Could've ruined the mission."

"But you didn't, you did good despite everything. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"I – okay. Thank you."

"Just hang on in there. Bruce and Thor won't be long."

"Thor?"

"Oh, sorry, you didn't hear that. Thor is faster than the Quinjet or your suit, so he's bringing Bruce over."

He probably would've heard it if he hadn't zoned out when they were talking about it.

"Steve, I'm – I keep missing stuff, like I can't think properly anymore, it's – a little scary."

"It's going to be fine, help is nearly there. I'll keep you company while you wait. Natasha and Clint are going through the base, copying records, collecting data, while we guard the prisoners."

We. Tony opens his eyes again – no memory of having let them slide shut – and he's looking through the armor's eyes at a clump of tied up Hydra guys some twenty yards away.

"JARVIS, did you do that? I'm not sleepwalking with the suit, am I?"

"Sir, I took over control of the suit sixteen minutes ago, with your approval."

Ah, yeah, that would've been after he'd smashed the suit into a wall because he got distracted. Right. "'course you did."

"Look, Tony, let's talk about something else, okay?" Steve says. "You said you've been to this part of Russia before, what was it like?"

* * *

Bruce's parting words, spoken off-air because Tony definitely didn't need to hear them, were chilling. "I hope I'm wrong about this and it's just a nasty cold, because if I'm right… I've lost someone to meningitis, once, a kid that was brought to me in Kolkata. I didn't realize what it was until it was too late, and she fell into a coma and passed away. Keep him talking, Steve, okay? That way, we can be sure he's conscious and breathing."

It's heartbreaking to listen to Tony's voice, to hear how frightened he is, and to be so powerless to help, but Steve does what he can: concentrates on keeping his voice as reassuring and steady as humanly possible, forcing the concern out of it, and tries to distract Tony. JARVIS has switched the sound so that Tony's voice is only coming through Steve's earbud, and not eerily through the empty suit, which still stands next to Steve. The Hydra men they're guarding have no idea that Iron Man's not actually here.

Attempts at idle small talk work for a little while, but Steve can tell Tony is flagging, and finally, halfway through an unenthusiastic, muddled account of business negotiations in Tomsk, his voice just tapers out.

"Tony? What did the CEO's daughter say?"

There's no reply that Steve can hear. Fear claws at his gut, but when he concentrates on it, he can still pick up Tony's ragged breathing on the line.

"JARVIS?" Steve asks.

"He appears unconscious, but not in any distress. It would still be best if we could rouse him. Sir? Sir, you need to wake up."

"Tony! Can you hear me? Come on, wake up," Steve tries, but still doesn't get an answer. He raises his voice to a stern, loud battlefield tone that he'd normally never use outside of a fight. "Stark! Rise and shine, Avenger!"

That actually works. "Ow, don't shout! 'm I late?" Tony garbles.

"No, you're not late for anything, just don't go back to sleep," Steve tells him.

"I'm really tired, though. Feel like crap. Head hurts."

"I know, just hang on in there. Do you know where you are, Tony?"

"Oh. Yeah. Floor, Siberia. Cold. So tired. Steve, I miss you."

"I wish I were there. I wish I could lift you to bed and hold on tight, I'd love nothing more right now. But you'll see me soon, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"You were telling me about the dinner party in 2002?"

"I was. Right. That's dull. Terrible last words."

"Tony, these aren't your last words."

"Can't know that for sure."

"If that's the angle you want to pick, then anything you ever say could be your last words."

"Why I try to only say awesome things."

"Like 'Sorry I puked on your blanket?'"

What an awful thing to mention to someone who thinks they could be dying, but Tony actually chuckles at that.

"That's a low blow, Rogers! Still, you know. In case they are –"

Steve's not going to let himself even think that. Tony's just being melodramatic, it's the illness talking, the fever and the confusion. Of course he's not going anywhere. He was fine just yesterday, and whatever's wrong with him, they're going to fix it. They're going to talk about this again later, when Tony is better, and laugh at it.

"Tony, no. You don't need to."

"Look, I just want to say, it's been good. What we've had. Was hoping for it to last."

"And it's going to, just you wait."

"Steve, I -"

Just then, there's the muffled sound of someone knocking on the door at Tony's end of the conversation.

"Tony, watch out, we need to breach the door," Bruce calls out, his voice loud and clear on the comms.

* * *

Tony's lost it, really, whatever dignity he had left, as well as the filter between what he thinks and what he says. God, he hopes they're talking privately and not on the team channel because he has no idea which it is. If he should survive and everyone's heard everything, he'll never get a break. It's just that he's not sure if he will, because he's alone in the middle of nowhere and although Steve is right there in his ear, he's too far, and Tony feels like he's kind of losing touch with reality, his temperature must be through the roof, and he's still shivering.

At first, he doesn't understand what's happening when someone breaks apart the door. He manages to push the HUD glasses off his face so he can see what's going on, and he tries to shift, thinking he needs to crawl under the bed to hide. He ends up face down on the floor, and it makes his head and neck hurt even more. Then he realizes that Steve said help was on the way, and after that he remembers this morning and how he sabotaged the lock to stop people from coming in and figuring out he's not in the suit. Well, that was totally pointless and very stupid, and it doesn't slow them down at all.

Ridiculously strong arms pick him up and place him on a bed. The thick bicep next to his face is not green and there's a cape hanging from the shoulder it's attached to, so that would be Thor, then, and it's still Thor who covers Tony with a couple of clean blankets far more gently than he would've expected, and pushes several pillows under Tony's head so that it's resting on something properly soft for the first time in ages.

Bruce isn't quite as gentle. He's doing a very good impression of being that kind of a doctor, poking and prodding and sticking Tony with sharp things. And asking questions, about half of which Tony misses because he's just too tired to concentrate, and the rest he doesn't know the answers to. Antibiotic allergies? Uh, ask Pepper instead? Oh, she's not here? Yeah, of course not. Anyway, it's nice not being alone, and maybe he's not going to die after all, yay!

"How is he doing?" Steve asks in Tony's ears – huh? – oh, right, headset.

He'd much rather have Steve doing the carrying and poking than these two. "Steve, why aren't you here?"

"Because we had some unfinished business with Hydra. We're on our way now. Bruce?"

"Yeah, not great, his fever's over 104 and I really don't like how disoriented he seems."

"Hey!" Tony exclaims, though he doesn't like it very much either. Doesn't like any of this.

"I'm as convinced as I can possibly be that it's meningitis, he's got all the classic symptoms. Probably bacterial, since it's progressed so rapidly. The definitive way to confirm it would be a spinal tap, which is way beyond what I can do. We need to get him to a hospital."

Promises of bigger needles and hospitals: not nice at all. "No, here is fine," Tony tells Bruce. Obviously he's not feeling fine, and he's not entirely sure where 'here' is, but surely better than a hospital.

"Sorry, but you don't get a say in the matter, we're not equipped to deal with this."

"We should be there in less than half an hour," Steve says. "Is that too long?"

"Ideally, we shouldn't wait at all, but, uh, neither Thor or I have any idea of where the nearest hospital might be, and it'd really help to have someone around who speaks Russian. So, let's see how this develops. If he deteriorates any further, Thor can give him a lift."

* * *

The atmosphere on the flight back is far tenser than it was on their way towards the Hydra base. Steve is piloting, pushing the Quinjet to the limits of its impressive airspeed, and fearing every second that Bruce will call and tell them that Tony's taken a turn for the worse. Natasha is on the phone, speaking sharp, rapid-fire Russian, making arrangements for what's going to happen next. Steve is glad they've got her language skills to rely on.

Luckily, there's no bad news on the way. Steve contacts Bruce a few times to make sure the situation hasn't changed, and it hasn't. Tony's comments are just as confused as before, but not significantly more so, and it has to be a good sign that he's still conscious and talking.

When they land on the forest clearing close to the summerhouse, the three Avengers are standing at its edge waiting for the Quinjet. Thor is carrying Tony, who is wrapped in blankets and resting his forehead against Thor's shoulder. It would be adorable if not for what it means – that Tony's too sick to cover the short distance from the cottage to the clearing on his own. Steve walks up to meet them, while Natasha takes the helm. She knows best where they're headed. They take off as soon as everyone's in.

Thor sets Tony on the cot, and Steve gets a proper look at him for the first time since the morning. He looks awful, there's no nice way to put it. His skin is much too pale except for the fever-red cheeks, his hair plastered against his forehead, and the dazed, glassy-eyed stare he aims at Steve is the polar opposite of his usual, sharp gaze.

"How far are we, Natasha?" Bruce calls out, standing by Tony's bed.

"Not far, about fifteen minutes. The hospital has a helipad and we're cleared to land there. They know to expect us," Natasha replies.

"Okay, that's great. I've got him on antibiotics and antipyretics, we've got oxygen if we should need that, I think we should be fine till we get there," Bruce says, with a cautious smile.

Steve kneels next to Tony, and gently lifts off the headset that Tony's still wearing before running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He can feel the unsettling warmth radiating off Tony's skin, way above normal body heat.

"Hi, there," Steve greets him.

"Steve," Tony replies. "Shouldn't touch me. I'm really sick. And disgusting."

"It's fine, Tony. I don't care," Steve says reassuringly.

Bruce wordlessly hands Steve a cool, wet cloth, and he runs it over Tony's brow and cheeks.

Tony shivers a little and sighs. "You all take such good care of me. I don't deserve this."

"Shh, that's not true, Tony. We take care of one another. You'd do the same for me. You don't need to say anything, just rest."

"But I – really, I don't. Almost ruined the mission, didn't I? I'm not just imagining, it happened, right?"

"You didn't ruin the mission, Tony. The Hydra base is taken care of, and everyone's fine. We're all here, and it's going to be all right."

Steve wonders how many more times they'll need to have this conversation. Clearly the worry over potentially botching the mission is constantly on Tony's mind, no matter how tired and confused he is.

Tony reaches out with a slightly uncoordinated arm, and makes to pull Steve closer. Steve goes with it, sits by the bedside, and grabs Tony in a hug. Even the breaths Steve can feel against his skin feel way too warm, but he's got Tony in his arms now. They'll get over this, no matter how long that'll take.

"I thought I'd – I'd, you know, never see you again," Tony says softly.

"I know. I'm sorry I wasn't there with you. And I'm sorry I didn't do something the first thing in the morning when I suspected something was wrong."

"How did you know?"

"Well, you weren't exactly your usual charming self."

"Still aren't. I hate it."

"I know. It's okay, I've got you. You'll get better," Steve says, hugging Tony a little closer.

Tony leans against him and tightens his hold around Steve. "Yeah, I think I will, now."

* * *

" _Neisseria meningitidis_ ," Bruce tells the four other Avengers who are gathered in the hospital corridor by the door to Tony's room. "Not an unusual bacterium at all, lots of people carry it without ever getting sick. It's among the most common causes of meningitis."

"If it's such a common bug, how did he even catch it in the first place?" Steve asks. "He said he'd be less susceptible to this sort of thing now that he doesn't have the arc reactor."

Bruce shrugs. "Sometimes, these things just happen. It could be a strain we don't have at home. Maybe he has some genetic feature that makes him more vulnerable than most people. We'll probably never know. It could've happened to any of us, really."

"By which you mean it could've happened to me or Clint," Natasha says. Of course, she's right – due to their rather unique physiologies, Steve, Bruce and Thor are unlikely to catch any regular infectious diseases.

"Yes, and that's why you'll need to start taking antibiotics, too, because it's potentially contagious. Also, if you notice anything unusual, don't keep it to yourself."

"I've recently developed an unusual amount of sympathy for Stark," Clint comments. "There might be something wrong with my brain."

"I believe we all share that sentiment," Thor speaks up. "Tell us, Doctor Banner, will our friend recover from this ailment?"

"It's a little early to say for sure, and there's always the chance of complications," Bruce says. "But everything I've seen and heard from the staff here is promising. It's a strain that responds well to antibiotics, there's no septicemia, and no sign of any lasting damage. I bet he'll be itching to be back in the suit in a few weeks. Give him a month, and he's probably fit enough for it."

"Can we go in now?" Clint asks.

"Yes," Bruce replies. "Just keep in mind he's still very poorly."

This isn't Steve's first visit, but so far, every time he's been here, Tony's been either asleep or so tired that they haven't been able to talk for more than a few minutes. Bruce has been around, too, acting as a medical proxy, and Natasha, as a translator. Clint and Thor, on the other hand, haven't seen Tony since they brought him here. Steve glances at the two men as they step in, and they look clearly taken aback when they set eyes on Tony, his wan face and the assortment of monitoring equipment and IV's he's hooked up to.

Tony's awake, though, and he greets them with a smile, which quickly turns into a frown. "It's the whole gang. What's going on? Am I about to kick the bucket?"

"No, asshat," Clint returns the smile with a crooked grin. "On the contrary, you're finally far enough from it that the docs decided we could all visit you without doing you in."

"It is good to see you are better, Anthony," Thor announces.

"He actually does look better than yesterday," Natasha comments. "Keep this up, Tony, and you might even pass for human again, one of these days."

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Bruce says.

Tony rolls his eyes at them. " I should probably press the call button. Ask the staff to get rid of these weirdoes who are bothering me."

"You're not fooling anyone, Tony," Steve tells him, and tousles his hair, ignoring the face Tony makes at that. "Everyone knows you're enjoying this just as much as we are."

* * *

Steve is right, of course. It's great to have the team here, although Tony can't help feeling like he doesn't deserve it. His memories of what happened before he woke up in hospital are fragmented and mainly consist of whirling colors on the HUD, a horrid headache, fever chills, and a hard wooden floor, but he does know he messed up.

He makes a valiant effort to keep up with the other Avengers' banter, but it's not long before he realizes he's just too worn out to really come up with anything clever. Really, almost too drowsy to keep his eyes open. Yet again. This is getting old. At first, he's annoyed and tries to fight it, but soon, he's so tired all he wants is a nap. The last thing he sees is Bruce and Steve ushering the others out of the room, and he goes to sleep with this ridiculously warm fuzzy feeling that he would never ever admit to having.

When he wakes up again, he has no idea whether it's been minutes, hours or maybe half a day, but Steve's still there. Just Steve, alone, sketching something in a small notebook.

"Morning. Evening. Something," he says, to catch Steve's attention.

"Oh, you're awake already. It's early evening, actually, you've only slept for a few hours."

"Please don't tell me you've been drawing my drooling sleepy face."

Steve's sheepish expression says that's exactly what he's been up to. He moves his chair closer to Tony and places a quick kiss on his forehead. "You weren't drooling, you actually looked very peaceful. I couldn't resist it."

"Can I see?"

"Not before it's finished."

"Been sitting there the whole time?"

"Since I saw the others out. I just wanted to talk, now that you're a bit better."

Oh, no. All of a sudden, Tony's all anxious. Is Steve here to berate him for ruining the mission? Surely it's too early for that, when he's not even close to healthy yet! "Anything specific you'd like to talk about?" he asks apprehensively.

"How much do you actually remember about what happened?"

"The big picture, I think? There was the mission to the Tunguska Hydra base. I woke up feeling sick, but my pride got the better of me and I figured I'd still participate, just not in the suit. And then everything went to hell in a handbasket."

"That's sort of the bare-bones version, though everything didn't go to hell. We finished the mission, took over the base, gathered some useful intel, and handed the Hydra soldiers to the local authorities. We achieved everything we'd been planning on."

"We did?"

"Yes. So, although what you did was foolish, I want you to know that you didn't mess up the mission."

"I didn't? Okay, that's a pleasant surprise."

"Actually, I've already told you that at least four times. I'm not surprised you don't recall it, though, you were a lot worse at the time. Bottom line is, you did just fine. You managed to trick us into thinking you were wearing the armor, handled your part of the plan, and took down a good few Hydra men, while barely able to get up from bed. So, uh, I can't commend you for doing that, but you do realize it's pretty damn impressive, right?"

"Hm, if you put it like that. Hah."

"Just so you don't get the wrong idea, I'd also like to make it clear that it was stupid, reckless and completely unnecessary. This may not be a regular day job, but you're still allowed sick leave."

"Well, I'm going to have plenty of that now, whether I want to or not."

"Yes. And I'm going to make sure you take it, even if it means tying you to that bed."


End file.
